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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815617">Contact High</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore'>OnMyShore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author's Hobbies Include Projecting Personal Issues Onto Patrick Brewer, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Study, Falling In Love, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Past Patrick/Rachel, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, Touching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:33:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For not being a touchy-feely kind of guy, it’s funny how Patrick can’t seem to get enough of David Rose’s hands.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>410</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Contact High</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you once again to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca">MarcellaBianca</a> for the beta, and for fixing all my mistakes and reassuring me that I'm not a mess.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Very early on, when Patrick and Rachel first start dating for the first time, Rachel points out a certain reluctance he seems to have for any type of prolonged physical contact with her. It’s not a criticism, exactly - it’s more of an observation, like how he doesn’t ever make a move to draw her in closer when they’re sitting together on the couch in her parents’ living room, or take her hand when they’re walking together on the sidewalk after school and her fingers brush up against his. They’ve kissed, more than once now, and it’s good - he thinks it’s good, he doesn’t really have anything to compare it to - but he’s been fairly hands-off with her other than that. He sees the way their paired-off friends can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, and he knows that Rachel sees them as well, and he wonders if her feelings aren’t a little bit hurt that they can’t be like that, too.</p><p>The problem is that he doesn’t feel any particular drive for that kind of physical closeness. He likes Rachel, he has for a while now; he likes her easy smile and her surprisingly sharp sense of humor, the way they can tease each other without turning mean. He feels like she gets him, or that maybe she could, or that she wants to, at any rate. He knows that she likes him too, and he likes how that feels. It’s nice to be wanted.</p><p>There are plenty of excuses he can make for wanting to keep a little bit of distance between them - politeness, maybe, the desire to be a gentleman and not rush into anything too fast. He could chalk it up to nerves - it’s his senior year and (if the classroom gossip is to be believed) literally everyone in his class has had sex except for him. The thought of just getting it over with actually makes his stomach churn - seasick, rather than butterflies - but he can’t tell Rachel that for fear of making her feel bad, and he doesn’t know how to reach out to her because he’s not sure what to do if she reaches back. Instead, he mumbles some hackneyed excuses that ring false even to his own ears, and Rachel rescues him by patting him on the arm and saying, “It’s okay. You’re just not a touchy-feely guy.”</p><p>It’s nice of her to give him an out - it’s the sort of thing they do for each other, when it feels like maybe there’s a harder conversation lurking underneath the surface that they don’t know how to have - but Patrick’s not sure it’s actually true, at least not in the way that she means it. His parents have always been affectionate, with each other and with him, and it’s not something he’s ever felt like he needed to shy away from. He still kisses his mom on the cheek every morning before he leaves for school. He didn’t think twice about accepting a hug from his father after his baseball team took home a big win to close the season last spring. Physical touch has always been a part of his life. It was just what his family did. It’s <em> normal</em>.</p><p>He’s aware, though, of the different kinds of touch amongst his peers, the social codes that they’ve all silently agreed to uphold. He watches the way the girls link arms when they walk together, the way they play with each other’s hair or lean in close to giggle and whisper, and nobody treats it like it’s anything scandalous. Conversely, touch between guys is limited to high fives and backslaps. Hugs are permitted in the event of some kind of athletic victory, but you always kept it brief, lest anyone get the wrong idea.</p><p>Patrick feels like he might actually fall somewhere between the two, and he jams his hands into his pockets and wonders if that’s even allowed at all.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He could have that, is the thing. Maybe he’s not a touchy-feely guy, but he could be, if he wanted to be. He hasn’t missed the way Rachel’s body seems to seek his out like it’s automatic, the way her arm presses against his when they’re watching a movie, though her hands stay in her lap. (“I know you’re not a touchy-feely guy.”) It would be so easy to pull her in, to drape an arm across her shoulders or around her waist, to tuck her in close the way his friends do with their girlfriends. He knows Rachel would be thrilled, too - she’s not a complainer by nature, but he sees the way she watches him out of the corner of her eye sometimes, and he can’t help feeling like he’s disappointed her.</p><p>He can do that, though. He can be that person for her that she wants him to be. He just needs to loosen up a little bit, to be able to get out of his comfort zone.</p><p>He lets her put her head in his lap when they go to the lake with their friends, legs stretched out on the old blanket that she’s brought from home to lay out next to the water. He brushes his fingers through her hair and tries to ignore the tension that pulls at his shoulders, the slight buzzing ache building at the back of his skull. It’s a hot day, the sun high in the sky, so he can blame the headache on not having enough water. And it must be the way he’s sitting that’s making his back hurt - being on the ground doesn’t really offer much in the way of support, and leaning back on his hands isn’t doing his shoulders any favors. He urges Rachel up for a moment so he can lay down on his back, encouraging her to lay down next to him. She lays her head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around her despite the heat of the afternoon, lazily flipping off his friends when he hears a series of wolf whistles and catcalls aimed their way.</p><p>Rachel giggles against his skin. “This is nice.”</p><p>“It is,” he agrees, and he doesn’t think about how this new position just makes him feel worse.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick takes an Intro to Psych course his sophomore year of college. He doesn’t have any particular interest in the subject, but he needs the elective credits and the class fits into his schedule. He sits in the second row so he doesn’t look too eager and chooses a seat one off from the center so he won’t be tempted to stare out the window if he starts to get bored.</p><p>A little more than halfway through the semester, as part of a larger project, his professor assigns the class an article titled “The Psychology of Touch.” Patrick rolls his eyes when he reads the byline (discreetly, when his professor is facing the other way, because he might think the reading is silly but that doesn’t mean he has to be rude) and he tucks the photocopied pages into his notebook where they sit forgotten for two days before he remembers to pull them back out.</p><p>Chewing on the cap jammed on the end of a pen, Patrick reads about the different ways that people interact with and respond to different kinds of touch, rolling his eyes again as he goes. He scoffs at the claims that physical contact is a necessary function for survival, as vital to human existence as water or oxygen. The article is peppered with phrases like “touch starvation” (dramatic) and “skin hunger” (gross). It all seems like kind of a stretch to him, if he’s being honest. The idea that a person wouldn’t be able to survive without touch seems ridiculous. He turns the idea over in his head but he can’t reconcile with it, and it’s making him feel tense and agitated. He’s not quite sure why the article annoys him this much, he just knows that it does. It hums just under his skin, buzzing at the base of his skull just like that day at the lake, a mild but persistent itch that refuses to be scratched.</p><p>The article goes on to describe the ways that touch can reduce stress, calm your heart rate and even lower your blood pressure. Apparently even a simple hug is enough to help the nervous system settle. To Patrick, it still feels more than a little far-fetched - he doesn’t go around hugging everyone he sees, and he’s doing just fine.</p><p>(<em>Not a touchy-feely guy.</em>)</p><p>The article also makes a point of explaining that the body can tell when the touch is coming from yourself as opposed to someone else, which is interesting. Does that mean it only counts if it’s coming from another person? Does the brain just hold onto that serotonin rush, saving it for when someone else comes along? Patrick prods at the base of his neck experimentally, digging two fingers into the knot that’s burrowed its way into the muscle just above his shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it doesn’t make him feel any calmer than he did when he first sat down, and then he hits a tender spot and drops his hand back to the desk with a hiss of pain.</p><p>The article concludes with a list of symptoms for touch starvation, and as silly as he finds the term, Patrick feels his pulse quicken when he reads things like “anxiety,” “tension,” “difficulty sleeping,” and “low relationship satisfaction.” The pen cap he’s been chewing on is crushed nearly flat between his teeth.</p><p>(<em>Not a touchy-feely guy.</em>)</p><p>When was the last time he’d actually hugged someone? Was it Rachel, the night before she left for school? His mom, the day his parents drove him back to campus? He’d let his roommate throw an arm around his shoulders as they staggered out of the bar two blocks from campus after too many rounds of shots, did that count?</p><p>Patrick reads the list of symptoms three times before hiding the article under his notebook and pushing back from the desk. He takes a long shower, running the water as hot as he can stand, and crawls into bed with wet hair. He’s still awake when his roommate lets himself in sometime after midnight, staggering gracelessly across the room with the smell of cheap tequila wafting behind him. He feels that buzz in his skull again, but it’s accompanied by a sharp tug of <em> something </em> somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, and he rolls over so he’s facing the wall and doesn’t sleep all night.</p><p>Patrick never goes back to the article. It’s the only assignment he fails all semester.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick proposes to Rachel in the park at sunset. It’s beautiful, and it’s romantic, and when she starts to cry he pulls her into his arms so she won’t notice how he dropped her hand as soon as he slid the ring onto her finger.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>She’s crying again when she holds out the ring for him to take, but he can’t make himself reach for her hand. She ends up dropping it on the table between them instead.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He has every intention of going back to his parents’ house once he’s cleared his stuff out of the apartment, but at the last minute he decides to leave town instead. He calls his parents from the road, and doesn’t answer their questions, and wishes he’d kissed his mom goodbye before he left.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ray shakes his hand warmly, and offers him a job and a room in rapid succession. Patrick goes to bed alone and lies awake for hours, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>David Rose shakes his hand, and Patrick feels a fundamental shift in the universe.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Going into business with a man he barely knows seems like a crazy idea, even to Patrick, so it’s startling just how quickly he and David fall into their routine. They’re so busy getting the store ready that Patrick doesn’t notice at first the way they seem to move through the space together like choreography. Like they’re been doing it for years instead of days, and then weeks. He doesn’t notice it, and then he does, and then it’s all he sees. Patrick watches David when he’s looking the other way, and he wonders if David is watching him too when he can’t see.</p><p>Once again, Patrick is conscious of getting too close, but for the first time, it’s because he wants to.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>If a handshake has caused his universe to shift, a kiss in the car makes everything click back into place. They’re the same pieces, but rearranged in a way that finally makes sense.</p><p>When Patrick closes his eyes, he can still feel David’s palm warm and steady against his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick’s never really been into holding hands in the past, though now that he can look back on his previous relationships and see them for what they really were, he thinks he probably has a good excuse for it. For him, holding hands has always felt performative. It was for other people, to prove how great their relationship was, how happy they were together.</p><p>David is different, and he’s made Patrick feel different too, or maybe it’s that he actually feels like himself for the first time in his life. Regardless, he decides that he wants to give it a try on their second date, a restaurant in Elmdale that David picks and then confirms no less than a dozen times throughout the day that it is, in fact, a date.</p><p>“Well, I just want to be sure!” David says, not even trying to hide a smile while Patrick rolls his eyes. “Communication is <em> so </em> important in a relationship.”</p><p>“So we’re calling this a relationship?” Patrick teases.</p><p>“Is it not?” David shoots back, but a flicker of uncertainty passes across his expressive face, and Patrick steps into his space and settles his hands on his hips to chase it away with his lips, because that’s something he’s allowed to do now. It’s true their first kiss was only two days ago, but they’ve been orbiting each other for weeks now, slowly drawing closer until they collided in the center. Relationship? That’s exactly what this is.</p><p>Feeling emboldened by the easy flow of conversation on the drive into town, Patrick hesitates only a second on the sidewalk before taking David’s hand in his. David makes a small, surprised sound as he glances down and their interlaced fingers, but he doesn’t pull away, at least, so that’s good, right? They’re in a relationship, aren’t they? This is what people in relationships do. This is normal. This is fine.</p><p>Only, it’s sort of not. Patrick is hyper aware of the places where their hands meet, and his palm is already starting to sweat, the way it does when he’s anxious or stressed. His grip is a hair too tight, and he has to force himself to relax into it. David’s fingers are stiff in his, and a glance at his face hints at the same discomfort he’s feeling. Rather than trying to press the issue, Patrick lets go of David’s hand and instantly feels a flood of relief. David exhales, and Patrick thinks he might be feeling some of the same.</p><p>“So that was weird for you, too?” Patrick asks, because it feels important to acknowledge it instead of burying it away in the back of his mind like he would have done in his previous life. He feels better when David nods emphatically.</p><p>“Yes,” he agrees. “Don’t take it personally, but yes, it definitely was.”</p><p>“It’s not you, it’s me?” Patrick says, but the joke feels wrong for the moment, and David glances over but doesn’t respond. “I mean, I don’t. Take it personally. Kind of seems like we’re on the same page.”</p><p>David hums in agreement, and Patrick bumps his shoulder against his, offering a tentative smile and feeling a rush of warmth when David smiles back. The physicality between them is something new, a dynamic they’re still trying to figure out how to navigate. These things take time. Nobody understands that better than Patrick Brewer (who’s <em> not a touchy-feely guy</em>).</p><p>For now, Patrick knows he likes being around David, feels better knowing he’s close by, and that’s what matters more than anything else. The rest is details. They can figure out the details. Patrick is the numbers guy, he knows how to handle details.</p><p>They’ll make other attempts over the next few weeks. He’ll take David’s hand across the table at the Cafe. David will lace their fingers together while they watch a movie on Ray’s couch. Their hands will brush and then join together as they walk down the sidewalk. But it never stops feeling uncomfortable for Patrick, and it never lasts longer than a few minutes before one of them lets go. Eventually, Patrick has to acknowledge that maybe he just doesn’t like holding hands, even if he likes the person he’s with. Even if admitting it feels a little bit like failure.</p><p>He brings it up to David over dinner one night, tentatively, afraid of the potential wedge he’s about to drive between them this soon in the game, but they’ve already had conversations using words like “boundaries” and “comfortable” and Patrick figures it’s better to be honest than not. To his great relief, David will exhale in a rush and admit that he feels the same but he wasn’t going to bring it up for fear of hurting Patrick’s feelings - Patrick, who reached for his hand first. They’ll laugh at how ridiculous they’ve both been acting over something that, as it turns out, isn’t actually a big deal after all.</p><p>Later, when they start having the bigger conversations, David will tell him that hand-holding was rarely a part of any of his past relationships, and when it did, it felt possessive rather than intimate, made him feel claimed in a way that didn’t feel good. He’ll apologize for not being able to turn those feelings off now that he’s with someone who actually treats him well, and Patrick will kiss him and tell him he has nothing to be sorry for. Later, David held securely against his chest, he’ll admit that holding hands felt like trying too hard. That it felt like lying. David will pull him closer and press a kiss to his forehead, because that’s exactly what Patrick needs in that moment, and they seem like very different people from the outside, but really, they’re more alike than anyone could know.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They strike hand-holding from the list, but David makes up for it with plenty of little touches of his own. David’s hands seem to find him no matter what they’re doing - a hand on his hip to guide him out of the way, an idle trace of his fingers up Patrick’s arm while they’re restocking the shelves. David has no problem inserting himself into Patrick’s space, and Patrick finds himself doing the same.</p><p>“Your shoulders are so tight,” David says one day at the store, coming up behind Patrick and draping his arms around him.</p><p>“Are they?” Patrick feigns surprise, like he hasn’t been trying to shrug the tension away since he was 15.</p><p>“Very much so.” David’s kneading his shoulders over his shirt now and Patrick isn’t prepared for how good it feels to have David’s hands on him like that. “How are you not in pain all the time?”</p><p><em> By not thinking about it</em>, Patrick doesn’t say. Instead, he shrugs, feeling a pang when the motion dislodges David’s hands and he pulls them away. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve never really noticed it.”</p><p>“My God, how can you not?” David’s hands find their way back to their original position and this time, Patrick lets himself lean back into the touch with a little hum of approval. He could stay here for the rest of the afternoon, David’s hands on him in the store that they’ve built together, but the moment is interrupted by a trio of customers happily chatting about an upcoming spa day, and Patrick reluctantly pulls away to offer assistance, and maybe upsell those candles they just got in. He doesn’t miss David’s discontented little huff as he stalks over to the register and it makes him smile.</p><p>David doesn’t bring it up again after that, exactly, but Patrick notices that he starts paying more attention to his back and especially his shoulders than he has before, finding new excuses to touch whenever he can. A palm flat between his shoulder blades. Fingertips dancing up his arms to rest at the base of his neck. Patrick notices it, and instead of pushing away, like he might have done once, he leans into it, wordlessly encouraging the contact and the unexpected comfort it brings. David notices him noticing, and keeps touching him, and Patrick never wants it to stop, which is fine because David doesn’t seem to want to stop either.</p><p>For <em> not being a touchy-feely kind of guy</em>, it’s funny how Patrick can’t seem to get enough of David Rose’s hands.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>David is different in every way that he could possibly be. David is broad shoulders and stubble. David surrounds him and towers over him, with a physicality that Patrick would have once found intimidating. To his surprise, though, Patrick realizes he loves it, seeks it out at every available opportunity now that he can. David is taller than him by several inches, and Patrick loves that too, the way he has to tilt up to kiss him instead of down, the snug way he fits against David’s chest like their bodies were built to come together. His need to touch David, to be touched by David, is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It crackles and hums under his skin and can only be soothed by David’s hands. Lucky for him, David’s hands seem to find him at every opportunity.</p><p>“Aren’t we affectionate today,” David says one morning when Patrick crowds against him to kiss him behind the register. It’s the third time he’s done it since they opened for the day, taking advantage of the quiet moments between customers.</p><p>Patrick hums. “You know,” he says, darting in for another kiss and feeling David smile against his lips, “someone told me once that I wasn’t a touchy-feely guy.”</p><p>David makes an undignified sound that he would insist wasn’t a snort. “That person obviously didn’t know you at all.”</p><p>It strikes an unexpectedly tender part of him, an unintentional knife between the ribs, but Patrick takes it and tucks it away for now. There will be plenty of time to talk about it later, when the wounds don’t feel as fresh as they still do now.</p><p><em> Soon</em>, he promises himself, as the bell over the door rings and David kisses his forehead before moving out from behind the counter to lend his assistance.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick stands in front of David and tells him that he makes him feel right, and instead of reaching for him, David folds his arms across his chest and tells Patrick that he’s damaged goods.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>As the song begins to fade out, David finally collapses in front of Patrick’s chair, flat on his back, arms splayed out to the sides as his chest heaves with exertion. Patrick almost doesn’t even realize he’s moving as he flings himself out of the chair to join him on the floor.</p><p>“Ew, no,” David protests immediately, his hands on Patrick’s shoulders in a feeble attempt to push him away. “No, stop, I’m all sweaty, you can’t just climb on top of me like this.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Patrick says, settling on top of him and pressing his face into the crook of David’s neck, a spot he’s recently started to claim as his. David’s skin is damp against Patrick’s cheek, and he tastes salt on his lips when he presses them to his cheek. He hears David’s muttered, “Ugh,” but there’s no real heat behind it, and then David’s arm comes up to wind around his shoulders, the gentle weight of his hand holding him where he is. Between their bodies and the floor there’s no room for Patrick to wrap his arms around David, so he slips his hand underneath the hem of David’s sweater, feeling his stomach jump as he trails his fingers up to his chest and then back down. He needs as much contact as he can get after a long, lonely week with nothing at all.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Patrick says after they’ve lain there in the quiet for a few minutes, because one of them has to say it first. David’s only just caught his breath, but Patrick feels it hitch underneath him.</p><p>“Me too,” David says, after a moment. His hand moves across Patrick’s back, down and then up again, palm warm just like that night they’d closed up shop together for the first time, and Patrick arches into the touch like he’s wanted to back then. “I don’t want you to torture yourself.” He pauses, and adds, “Not for a whole week, anyway.”</p><p>Patrick lets out a breathy laugh against David’s neck. “Two days, maybe three, tops?”</p><p>“Whatever seems like the appropriate amount.” David’s other arm comes up to encircle Patrick’s waist, holding him even closer. “I’ll leave it up to your discretion.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Patrick murmurs, smiling at the warmth in David’s voice and in his arms. Part of him wishes they could just stay like this all night, the two of them still and quiet and content, surrounded by the glow of the Apothecary’s lights, but the moment feels incomplete, tugging at the edges of Patrick’s awareness like a cat tugging at a string. He pulls in a deep breath and feels David move beneath him, like he can feel the mood starting to shift around them.</p><p>“I kind of blew up my life when I broke my engagement,” Patrick says, and the words feel strange and foreign on his tongue when he says them out loud here, now. David’s hand has stopped moving, but it stays on his back, a warm and comforting presence even through his button-down shirt. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving until I was already gone. I didn’t give two weeks notice at work. I didn’t call any of my friends. David, I didn’t tell my <em> parents </em>.” There’s a desperate, unsteady edge to his voice, because he needs David to understand the significance of what he’s saying and why he’s never said anything until now. </p><p>“Is that why...you’re not close to them now?” David asks, hesitant, like he knows he’s poking a bruise that he can’t avoid, and Patrick nods against his chest. His own hand has stilled under David’s sweater, fingers spread out across his ribs like he’s trying to touch all of David at once.</p><p>“We used to be.” Patrick’s voice is barely above a whisper, and he clears his throat because he wants David to hear him. “But they had questions I didn’t know how to answer, and after a while I just stopped picking up when they called. And I know I messed up but I don’t know how to fix it, because running away is what caused it all in the first place. The only reason we barely talk anymore is because of me.”</p><p>After a second, David says, “I thought it was the other way around.”</p><p>Patrick takes another breath. “I know.”</p><p>He’s braced for David to push him away, but then David’s hand is rubbing his back again, acknowledging the transgression and then soothing it away. In a burst of bravery and affection, Patrick turns his head enough to land a kiss to the side of David’s neck, just below his jaw. It feels good, feels <em> right</em>, like it’s exactly where he was meant to be.</p><p>“This feels like the start of a bigger conversation,” Patrick finally says, “but maybe not one we need to have on the floor?”</p><p>David groans and shimmies his shoulders as much as he can with Patrick still lying on top of him. “The hardwood is lovely but it’s definitely not doing my back any favors.”</p><p>“Are you saying I’m too heavy?” Patrick teases, but he eases off, pushing himself to his feet and offering David a hand to pull himself up. David lets go once he’s standing and then immediately pulls Patrick into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. Patrick’s arms go around him, instinctively, hands clutching at David’s back like he could hold him there forever.</p><p>David pulls back just enough to kiss him, and it’s just a brush of their lips, slow and sweet and entirely too short. “We’re okay?” he whispers.</p><p>“We’re okay,” Patrick says, and leans in to kiss him again.</p><p>For the first time in a week, Patrick sleeps through the night.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>David is already in bed when Patrick emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and face freshly scrubbed. He’s sitting up against the bars of the headboard, two pillows propped up behind him and a book open in his lap. Patrick comes over to his side of the bed and plucks the book from David’s hands, laying it face-down on the bedside table to save the page, and pulls back the covers to climb right into David’s lap.</p><p>“What’s this?” David’s voice is low and amused as his arms come up around him, and Patrick nuzzles into his neck and murmurs, “Nothing.”</p><p>He does this sometimes, plants himself directly in David’s personal space, just to feel David pull him in closer. He does it because he can, because he’s allowed to, because he’s allowed himself to. Because sometimes he just wants to feel closer to David, to seek out his touch without the expectation of anything more. Sometimes, like tonight, he just wants to hold and be held, just for the sake of it, because it’s available to him, like a drink of water after a lifetime in the desert.</p><p>It was never easy like this before. Patrick understands all the reasons why, of course, but he still marvels at the difference that just two years has made. The guy who ran away wouldn’t recognize the person he is now, the one who can climb into his boyfriend’s lap without a second’s hesitation, who ends up on David’s side of the bed more nights than not, who shares a thousand little touches that mean a thousand different things, who doesn’t have to wait until they’re behind closed doors to reach out with both hands.</p><p>It’s easier now, when he doesn’t have to worry about the rules, when he’s not constantly making calculations in his head and adjusting himself accordingly. It’s a relief not to have to worry about whether or not he’s doing it right, acting the way he should, and what other people are going to think or assume if he gets it wrong.</p><p>Maybe touching was never actually the problem. Maybe the fucking rules don’t matter after all.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They’re lying in bed together, just like they’ve done a thousand times before, except that David has swapped his silver rings for gold and Patrick’s universe has shifted once again.</p><p>Of course, it didn’t come without a few bumps in the road along the way, and even though he knows he should have expected it, the perfectionist in Patrick is having a hard time letting it go.</p><p>“I’m just saying,” Patrick says, for the third time since they got home, while David’s chest shakes with suppressed laughter. “David. I’m serious. I had a <em> plan</em>.”</p><p>“I know, honey.” David’s rubbing his shoulder. “I know how much you love making plans.”</p><p>“I do love making plans,” Patrick grumbles. “You know what I like better than that, though?”</p><p>“When the plan actually works?”</p><p>“When the plan <em> works</em>, David!”</p><p>David is definitely laughing at him now, but it’s difficult to be upset about it when he’s curled into David’s side, buzzed on engagement sex and leftover champagne.</p><p>Difficult, but not impossible.</p><p>“I’m gonna need you to stop laughing at me,” Patrick tells him, trying to sound like he means it.</p><p>David shakes his head, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m not,” he insists, and Patrick rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Remind me not to make fun of you the next time you get upset when something goes wrong.”</p><p>“Oh, gladly,” David agrees, and Patrick laughs against his chest. “And to be perfectly fair, at least 50% of what went wrong today was because of me and my complaining, so you really shouldn’t blame yourself for that.”</p><p>Patrick lifts his head. “Only fifty? You don’t think you’re being a little generous with that percentage?”</p><p>“It’s important to be kind to yourself.”</p><p>“Ah,” is all Patrick says before leaning up to kiss the smirk off his boyfriend - his <em> fiancé's </em> - face. “It’s just-”</p><p>David groans and flops his head back on the pillow, pulling Patrick down with him, but Patrick’s not ready to be placated just yet, no matter how good it feels to be in David’s arms. “It’s just that I know you’re a fan of the grand gesture from all those terrible movies you make me watch-”</p><p>“<em>Excuse me </em>-”</p><p>“And I know anything public would be out of the question.”</p><p>David shudders. “Obviously.”</p><p>“This just seemed like a good way to, I don’t know...give that to you, I guess. Or it was supposed to be, anyway.”</p><p>David hums. “Okay, one, that is very sweet and I want you to know that I do appreciate all of your effort. And two, in my defense? I’ve never actually been on the receiving end of a grand romantic gesture before, so I think you can forgive me for missing the signs.”</p><p>“I just wanted it to be perfect.” Patrick sighs as he runs his fingers over the gold rings that adorn David’s left hand, and David brings both of their hands up to brush his lips against Patrick’s knuckles, a rare gesture for all the little touches they share, and it makes Patrick shiver.</p><p>“It <em> was </em> perfect,” David insists.</p><p>Patrick makes a noise of disbelief. “David. It was a well-intentioned disaster.”</p><p>“Mm, well, much like myself. And you still decided you wanted to marry me, so really…”</p><p><em> Easiest decision of my life</em>. “Maybe it worked out for the best?”</p><p>“I think so.”</p><p>Patrick can’t find it in himself to argue anymore, not when he’s wrapped up in David’s arms in the bed that they share. Instead, he closes his eyes and lets himself feel everything in the moment - David’s broad chest under his cheek, the fingers lightly stroking up his arm to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, the tangle of their legs beneath the sheets. It hits him all over again, how it feels to be happy and in love, and to be <em> allowed </em> to be for the first time in his life, that these things are available to him and that he’s finally able to give them back. He should be overwhelmed with the enormity of it, but the arm curled around his shoulders keeps him grounded and present, and for once his mind doesn’t want to spin off into outer space with all of his worries and anxieties. His arm is draped across David’s waist and he pulls it a little tighter, wanting only to be as close as he can get to this beautiful, infuriating, wonderful man.</p><p>David’s voice breaks the silence. “You told me once that I made you feel right.”</p><p>Yes, he did. “Still true.”</p><p>“It better be.” David smiles as he says it, but then he glances down at Patrick, who catches his eye and holds it. David sighs and looks up at the ceiling, but moves his hand to stroke his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “You make me feel...safe. And I didn’t think I could ever have that. With another person. So.”</p><p>Patrick’s fingers had been idly stroking across David’s skin, but now he goes still. He swears he can actually feel David’s heart start to pound, because saying these things out loud is still scary, for both of them, even after all this time, but Patrick only presses a kiss to David’s collarbone before looking up. “Hey. Guess what.”</p><p>David tries and fails to keep the smile off his face. God, they’re both such <em> dorks</em>. “What?”</p><p>Patrick doesn’t bother trying to hide his own grin. “We’re getting married.”</p><p>“Yeah we are,” David says, and he smiles for real, and Patrick surges up to kiss him again.</p>
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